


A Lesson in Time Management

by Cubist Revolutionary (Syfris_Plath)



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Big Brother Mycroft, Eventual Johnlock, F/M, Fluff and Crack, M/M, POV Third Person Limited (switching), TARDIS bloopers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-20
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-03-18 19:11:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3580716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syfris_Plath/pseuds/Cubist%20Revolutionary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the Doctor dangled from the doorway in the middle of his regeneration, the TARDIS hit a building a bit too hard and the raggedy dressed man just sort of… fell out. While wandering the streets of London in search of his sexy blue box, the Doctor encounters an interesting pair out on a really-this-isn’t-a-date before continuing his evidently unavoidable crash-landing. And every time the three met hereafter, all at the most inconvenient of places during the worst possible moment. </p>
<p>Formerly entitled "The Dates That Are Set in Time".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pink and Blue Go Together Smashingly

**Author's Note:**

> BBC’s Sherlock and seasons 5-7 of Doctor Who have been fighting a fierce battle to take domain in my Netflix tab. This is my way of trying to make peace between the fandoms; hopefully in their time together here they will become the best of friends.
> 
> Currently unbetaed.
> 
> Set before the Eleventh Doctor and during A Study in Pink

“To the left, girl; TO THE LEFT. Up, up, up, upupupupup- yes! All right, now, let’s just sail like this for a bit- NO, not a spike _there_! UP! Whoa, that was a close one. Just hold still for a moment and I’ll climb back in- I really hope that swimming pool is still in the library- then we can- Oomph. Ahhhhhh!”

The sound of the TARDIS wheezily groaning in apology faded rapidly as the gusting of wind took precedent in the Doctor’s ears. His disappointingly not red, girly-long hair flew into his eyes as he fell down towards the hard streets of London. And fell. And…. fell. Now really, based on the momentum built from swinging by his grasp on the TARDIS’s currently door-less entrance and Earth’s average gravitational pull, he should not have to wait this long to splat. The boredom was already setting in; at this rate he could try to- _Splat._

* * *

 

Black, black, black and more black. Honestly, if they wanted people to stay for any length of time, there should be a wider variety of color here. Like… blue. Yes, pretty, scuffed-up, sexy blue with character that only comes from age and love. That sounded nice. It’s decided; he was leaving this place and going to find a sexy blue that he could grow old with. Or already have grown old with and will continue to do so until he finishes growing old and goes on to do something else. How nice it would be if the sexy blue came in a nice shape, maybe a big box that isn’t actually a cubical box, but a rectangular prism that people will just call a box because it sounds better…

With determination born from the deep desire for a non-monochrome life, he convinced his eyes to open and free him from the distastefully decorated residence. After letting out a couple of threatening growls and solidly blinking a few times to thoroughly chase away the lingering black stowaways, he quickly judged his new accommodations as only minorly less inadequate than his previous surroundings. Sure, there was some light, but overall the shades of gray and brown that made up the walls, ground and bins around him weren’t appealing to the eye at all. And there was no blue. Anywhere.

Trying to move, however, wasn’t working out so well. A glance down showed his skin to be glowing, and not in the healthy way that the one-who-got-to-have-red-hair’s did, but in a sparkly hue that, while fairly enchanting, wasn’t blue and decidedly wasn’t very good. Plus, his back hurt. A lot. But the skin-lightshow seemed to be helping with that, so he decided to allow it some time to run its course before attempting to move again. Not because of the pain, but just since waiting sounded fun right now.

**_How about a nap?_ **

No, Lord Times don’t take naps- naps are for mundane beings who have nothing better to do.

**_Well, that’s true, but everyone needs sleep. Sleeping is biologically necessary and a depravation of rest leads to decreased cognitive function, which then results in a mundane life due to being unable to think of what one really desires and then figuring out how to achieve it. Do you want that?_ **

Well, when you put it that way, I guess a few minutes back at the dark place wouldn't be too bad…

* * *

 

A bearded homeless man by the name of Gregory crouched over the trash littered body, trying to gauge whether a pulse was present and if there was anything on the body worth adding to his trolley. The torn, smudged suit that was in even worse shape than his own garb was less than encouraging as it pointed to a robbery gone wrong, but the criminal could have left something of value behind by accident. In any case, beggars couldn’t be choosers.

While reaching into the front vest pocket to search for loose change, Gregory let out a hoarse cry as the not-so-dead body’s hand shot out to grip his arm and the torso leaned up, nearly causing their heads to knock together.

“Noble! Donna Noble was her name; how could I have forgotten Donna Noble’s name? I just regenerated for her father after all! Oh, but I suppose she won’t remember me now anyways… My box. Where is my box! Sexy, hold on; I’m coming to save you from the cold, unforgiving streets of wherever this is. Hmm, London, what it? Let’s see, I just need to take a right here, circle back around, and…

Gregory watched in bemusement as the obviously loony man walked out of the alleyway, waving his hands about as he spoke of nobles and boxes and prostitutes. He contemplated phoning the nearby institution, but concluded that he had neither the money nor the time to bother caring. After all, there were so many more buildings to check between for thrown away treasure, and there was an all-you-can-eat buffet tomorrow morning at the Waffle House on Oxford Street. Preparations needed to be made if he was going to get at the dumpsters before all of the leftover breakfast was gone.  

* * *

 

“…then two more blocks down and I should end up near the third MacDonald’s, where I will then proceed to…” The Doctor kept muttering directions to himself, trying to bring up a map of 21st century London in his scrambled brain. He had tried to ask a few pedestrians for directions to the nearest blue police box, one with some damage that doesn’t take away from her beauty at all, but everyone kept shying away when he approached- one gentleman even threatened to call the police. This made him worry a bit about what his new appearance must look like, especially when a stroller-bound baby began sobbing when the Doctor offered a grin, but there was no time to waste on such trivial matters. The TARDIS was lost and alone somewhere, probably worried he had abandoned her or gotten hurt; or worse.

There was something else as well. A feeling, one in the pit of his stomach, telling him that this wasn’t right, that he wasn’t supposed to be here. So much of time was in flux and could be rewritten by one little change. However, there were certain important people and important places, and events that occurred at those places involving those people that just had to happen. They were fixed points in time and in every reality they played out the exact same way. The fall of the Greek and Roman Empires, 9/11 and the Twin Towers bombing in New York City, Michael Jackson’s death, Barack Obama’s election; all examples of events that had to take place, regardless of any interference. The Doctor had experienced this same feeling while in Pompeii with Donna; saving one family was a small win, but the ancient city still burned to ash in the end. It **had** to happen.

He wasn’t supposed to fall out of the TARDIS here; he needed to get back into his box and continuing flying until he crashed where he was meant to. Until then, every second was one that operated outside of the time stream and had the potential to tear a hole in the universe. Nothing was going according to how it should and one wrong move could lead to the return of Nazi Germany or the Soviet Union or some other change that would rupture time and irreparably ruin the future. Even his regeneration had stalled, leaving his body in a half-cooked state. His limbs didn’t function as he wanted them to and his mental faculties were working at half capacity, if that.

Running down the street preoccupied as he was with his thought, the Doctor didn’t even realize he had run into something until his frazzled nerves got around to informing him that his legs had stopped their frontwards-backwards movement and he was now lying on his back again. Soon his ears also decided to speak up and timidly told him to pay attention to them, as apparently someone was making noises that he should listen to.

“- ost him, John, we’ve lost him! There are all green lights from here on out and not a stop sign for at least another mile. Oh, why must other people exist when they only get in my way?”

“Yes, well, if those poorly placed people weren’t around at all, then you wouldn’t have any cases to occupy your time, I would think. And still, you must admit; successful or not, that was very exciting.”

The Doctor looked at the two humans in front of him with his head cocked in curiosity. The taller one whom he had mutually run into had already stood up and was pacing in agitation beside the other, less vertically stretched human. Based off of the annoyed atmosphere that had formed, he assumed his presence interrupted something important. **_British people are supposed to be everlastingly polite_** , a voice chimed within his mind, **_so be a damn British person and apologize._**

“So sorry to barge in like that. I too have some important dates to sort out, so I’ll just be on my way,” the Doctor said, though it came out more slurry than he had anticipated. All of this head-hitting-the-pavement business couldn’t be good for the regenerating mind. If this continued, he was going to end up with the personality of a nearly thousand year old toddler by the time he was done with the day.

“What? Oh, no, no, no. I don’t swing that way at all, and he doesn’t swing any way apparently,” corrected the blond man, whose name was John, based off what the other had said. “Really, this isn’t a date at all. In fact, we were just running after a criminal, and-”

“-ruined, this whole case. Though it was a long-shot anyway, but now we will never know if he was the killer. We’ll have to go back to the flat to-”

“-complete misunderstanding, I assure you. No, nothing of the kind is going on, despite what Angelo may think. Sherl-”

The Doctor’s head swished back and forth between the two men talking over one another. Finally the two one-sided conversations ended with a double exclamation of “We must go now!” and a few beats of silence as the two looked at each other as if just realizing the other was also speaking and didn’t hear a word of what he had said.

With a tranquil smile at the other John, the Doctor commented, “You know, your really-this-isn’t-a-date Cheryl reminds me a lot of my own really-this-isn’t-a-date partner, River Song. And my name is John too, sometimes at least; we should really all get together for tea. Although, I am still not certain River isn’t actually a clever Zygon.” The Doctor sprang up and walked up to the taller man of the pair, looking intently into his eyes with his face only inches from the other’s. “Are you a Zygon, by any chance?”

“Excuse me? No, I am Sherlock Holmes, a Consulting Detective- the first of its kind; I invented the job- and I was trying to track down a pink phone to find a serial killer until you INTERUPTED ME! My Mind Palace had been disturbed and my mental map is all messed up now.”             

“Pink? Oooh, that’s a nice color; I wonder how it looks with blue? I bet that map could help us figure it out. It’s okay, though; my mental map is a bit off as well at the moment.”

Sherlock blinked once before a look of understanding entered his eyes as he took in the Doctor’s entire raggedy form. “Ah, I see. Odd, though; I don’t remember anyone from my homeless network mentioning another mentally unstable addition so close to my home. I really should tighten up communication. So many things tend to slip by nowadays.”

“Homeless? No, you see, I have a home. She is a big sexy blue beast of a police box that most definitely exists, and I should know- I just crashed her.”

“Right, _of course_ you did. John, let’s go; we have no time to waste.”

 During the encounter, the Doctor had felt the unpleasant feeling quiet until it was just a numb fly perched in the darkest corner of his gut. However, as the duo began to make their way down the street, the nagging came back with a vengeance, pulling his thoughts in all different directions as it urged him to _find the TARDIS findtheTARDISfindtheTARDIS!_

Before he knew it, the Doctor found himself running up behind the two men, following them through the streets. He was too busy berating his feet for acting without permission to notice the worried look the duo he was trailing shared before increasing their pace. The disobedient feet only ran faster to catch up, trying to get rid of the yelling feeling as the Doctor continued to have a row with his body parts.

This cycle continued until the three ran onto a street that was completely in gridlock. Cars were crammed together on every square foot of the road, honking away and demanding to know what the holdup was. And there, sitting on its side in the most inconvenient of places, right in the middle of the street, was the TARDIS, causing a ruckus over her gorgeous self like always.

“Yes! Oh, thank you two!” the Doctor yelled out, embracing the men he had been following and laying a kiss on both sides of their faces. “You've led me right to her. Merry Christmas!”

“Huh?”

“… Did he say Christmas?”    

As the Doctor slid over the hoods of cars to reach his precious spaceship, his tunnel vision finally expanded enough for him to notice the crowd gathered around the TARDIS.

“I have no idea how this got here, Sir,” one of the policewoman said into a phone. “This model hasn’t been used for ages and it is locked from the inside.” Pause. “Yes, we’ve called a tow to come and move it, but with all of the traffic it may take hours to get here.” A lengthier pause accented by a wince. “Indeed Sir, we will do our best to get everything back in order.”

A tow truck was coming? That wouldn’t do; they could scratch up her exterior. He was planning on giving her a nice buffering and a new paintjob soon, but still; it was the principle of the matter. A certain level of respect needed to be upheld.

“Pardon me, coming through, there we go,” the Doctor hummed as he casually ducked under the bright tape surrounding the scene, shuffling through his pant pockets.

“Listen Mister, you aren’t allowed over here, yeah?” A police officer tried to stop the Doctor, who simply nodded in response before removing his hands with a triumphant noise, lifting up a set of keys.

“But wait; there’s more!” With one hand holding the keys, the Doctor used his other to give a dramatic snap and grinned when a popping sound signaled the opening of the police box’s front door. “Thank you River.” Without another glance at the gaping bystanders, the Doctor set himself on the ground and rolled horizontally into the TARDIS, the door snapping shut behind him.

Intrigued, Sherlock stepped towards the blue box, examining it and probing for any sensors. The insane man’s trick had been a good one, but there had to be some sort of mechanism somewhere that allowed him to pull off his little stunt.

The front door popped back open again and the Doctor’s upper body slid out. Before Sherlock could move, the man’s tattered-sleeved arm reached up and pulled a pink scrap of cloth from the Consulting Detective’s pocket. He had taken the piece from the crime scene so he could compare the shade to any suitcases he found tossed away to ensure they belonged to the victim. She had been a very color coordinated woman; her clothing would match her luggage to a tee.

The Doctor held the scrap against the damaged side of the TARDIS and stared at it for a minute. Once done, he looked back up at Sherlock and grinned from ear to ear. “Perfect; pink and blue go together _smashingly_ , wouldn’t you say? Don’t mind if I keep this, do you?” The man then rolled back into his box without waiting for a response.

A groaning wheeze resounded through the street as the blue police box began to fade in and out of sight before disappearing altogether, kicking up dust in its wake. Sherlock stared at the vacant space momentarily before turning around and walking back towards Baker Street, an amazed Watson following behind.

“Um, Sherlock? What exactly did we just see?”

“Nothing John; we saw nothing. It was just a mad man with a blue box; nothing out of the ordinary in the slightest.”


	2. Vampires at the Bank

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why the Doctor should never go to a circus with Sherlock Holmes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set both pre- and post-The Vampires of Venice and during The Blind Banker.

Two lovebirds currently engaged in a little spat caused by pre-marriage jitters. Yes, nothing a spin in the TARDIS couldn’t fix. Well, maybe the spat wasn’t so much due to nerves as partially a tiny bit entirely caused by him and his box, but that was only more of a reason for him to be the one to mend their relationship!

“How about somewhere far away and romantic?” With a final grin, the Doctor pulled the lever decorated with flashing yellowy lights that sometimes made the TARDIS land, and other times unlocked the main suite’s bathroom door or set off the popcorn popper to extra buttery.

What better way to fix almost-marital issues than with a trip to one of the most romantic cities in all of Europe: 1580’s Venice. The collection of islands in Italy was the setting of so much history and hosted so many landmarks; a more beautiful city couldn’t be found anywhere else in the peninsular nation. The engaged couple could dance, drink, explore and make googly eyes at each other for as long as they like, and then come back not even an hour after they had left and get married! And Amy could have someone a bit more age appropriate to kiss, not that it was unpleasant or anything he would never want to be repeated. Hmm, that sounded like it may be another sentence which probably sounded better in his head.

The usual rocking of the TARDIS shifted slightly to the right and the Doctor frowned, taking a look at his scanner. “No, no, no; what have you done! Did either of you two press or touch or look at anything?” He ran around to where Amy and Rory were holding on to the console in an attempt to keep their balance.

“Um, I think my elbow might have bumped this blue switch here. Some warning would be nice next time, you know,” Rory spoke up, shifting to reveal a small switch pointing downward.

“Oh, not the _blue_ switch! You could have nudged the green button or twiddled with the orange knob or even had a little get together in the closet with the roundels and we’d have been fine, but no, you just had to flip the _blue switch_.”

“Sorry, but what does the blue switch do, exactly?” Amy asked. “I mean, nothing changed. We didn’t suddenly start spinning out of control or fall into a wormhole, so what’s so bad about it?”

“ _Nothing changed_? Oh, but everything did! You see this?” The Doctor brought the screen around so his passengers could view it. “There are twos on here. _Twos_. They are far worse than threes and only moderately less horrifying than eights. I hope you’re happy, Rory; you’ve doomed us all.”     

“What? How have I doomed us?”  
“Doctor!” Amy yelled, the thickened Scottish accent bringing the men’s attention towards her. “What does the bloody switch do?”

“I don’t know; the TARDIS doesn’t come with an instruction manual! Everything here needs to be turned on if you want to find out what it does. I have been pointedly avoiding that switch for hundreds of years and then your boyfriend comes along and messes with it within an hour of being on board.”

“Uh, fiancé, soon to be husband, actually…”

“Well then, I suppose we should take this as a learning exercise and see what we’ve got, hmm?” Amy, ever the blissfully ignorant optimist, spoke up in defense of her boyfriend-fiancé-soon-to-be-husband over the previously identified man’s own voice.   

“Fine, but I’m warning you I have no idea what is out there; I am not even certain we’re still on Earth. We could have arrived at the first moon landing! Ooh, I need to take you there later… Regardless, I can assure you that we aren’t in Venice anymore.”

“We were going to Venice?”

“…And there goes the surprise as well. All right, let’s just go already!”

With the same amount of caution he always exercised, the Doctor opened the door and stuck his head out. He licked his finger and raised it up into the air, checking the atmosphere to ensure it was safe to venture away from the TARDIS’s extended air supply. **_Earth. Specifically London, in the first decade or two of the 21 st century. Hasn’t rained since Monday. Ugh, tourists are scattered about everywhere- they might be fun to mess with later. Hmm, this place seems moderately familiar. _**

Retracting his head back through the doors, the Doctor gave Amy and Rory a stern look. “It is even worse then I previously thought. We’re in London around your time period and we have arrived at the worst possible point: it’s a Thursday evening. Quick, get back in position and I’ll fly us to Veni- I mean, your totally unknown couple’s surprise date and this time I’ll be sure to land on a Saturday.” 

“Oh, I don’t think so, Doctor,” Amy grinned, swaggering over to the entrance and past the Doctor. “Trust me; this will be good for you. It is healthy for senior citizens to continue learning; else their brains will gather dust and rot. Now, let’s see where my almost-hubby brought us to.”

Directly outside of the TARDIS door stood a brick wall and nothing else. Amy squeezed through the narrow space in between the police box and the building and stumbled onto a sidewalk, muttering about stupid blue switches as her outer blouse was torn. The sight that greeted her elicited a paused and a nervous “Doctor!”

“Yes, yes, I’m coming what is wro- oh…” Before them stood a relatively well-lit, tall edifice with rounded red paper lanterns stung up in front of the entrance. “Huh, this is a surprisingly mundane result for such an imposing little switch. To be perfectly honest I was expecting us to walk out in the middle of those terrorists attacks during the 2012 Olympics and Paralympics or somewhere equally unpleasant. This is actually fairly boring.” 

“But, Doctor, I don’t understand. Why would the TARDIS bring us here? And where is here anyways?”

“Well, I could be wrong, though I highly doubt it, but I believe we are standing in front of the traveling Yellow Dragon Chinese circus, in town for one night only.”

Amy turned on her heels and eyed the Doctor with a narrowed gaze. “Oh please, how could you possible know that? Did you volunteer as one of their performers once when their star acrobat hurt his leg before a show? Or were you the one to originally create the troupe and have come to check on how they’ve blossomed like a proud father?”

The Doctor turned wide eyes towards Amy and held up a soggy sheet of paper. “No, I just picked up their pamphlet from the ground. Why must everything be so complicated with you?”

“Uh, guys, I could really use some help over here. Could one of you maybe pull the box-thing away from this wall more? It’s a bit too tight of a fit.”

“Yes, right, okay; Amy, you go help Rory get out- there’s some butter in the third drawer down next to the main lever- and teach him my spaceship’s name or so help me… I’ll go scout ahead, so come meet me inside when you’re done.”

Instructions given, the Doctor turned towards the decorated building and walked up the front steps. The lobby he walked into held more alit paper lanterns with ancient Chinese symbols on them and a ticket counter manned by a young Asian man was set into the wall.

“The show is about to start; reservation, or do you have the tickets with you?” the man asked, a polite tone softening the underlying impatience the words invoked.

“Party of three, one Doctor and two Ponds,” the time traveler responded, flashing his psychic paper briefly. “The others will be here in a moment, but first please tell me something.” Setting his elbows on the booth’s table, the Doctor leaned in close and hushed his voice. “Just how would you classify this performance, from a rating of romantic paradise to sketchy illicit goods dealer atmosphere?”

The young man’s eyes flashed in alarm for a second, probably from surprise- the Doctor got that reaction a lot- before settling calmly again. His hands moved under the counter as he replied, “Why do you ask?”

The Doctor leaned back and grinned. “Because I am bringing a date and I want this to go brilliantly; all low lights and cuddly times, no danger or pointy objects. After all, they are getting married soon!”

Relaxing, the man’s easy smile came back. “Indeed, there is much potential for romance here, I would say, and all swords and daggers are kept safely away from the spectators, I assure you. Wait, did you say your date is getting married to another?”

“Yes, I actually high jacked one of them from his bachelor party! Fun times, but I bet a cake with a confused, poorly dressed woman in it and a free bar won’t top this place!”

“… Of course not…”

Rory and Amy finally arrived and the Doctor ushered them up the stairs, dismissing Rory’s protested about wishing to change shirts first with a mumbled “no time, come along”. The passageway opened up into the main entertainment room; the ceiling abruptly rose high and a wide circle of candles marked where the audience should view from and bathed the area in soft light, causing constantly shifting shadows to appear on the curtains behind the stage.

“Doctor,” Amy whispered as they entered the room, “this doesn’t seem like a circus. There are only, like, fifteen other people here. What is going on?”

“Oh my God; we’ve entered a cult. Quick, we have got to go before they bring out the blood-letting knives.”

“Oh, hush you Ponds. Relax, everything will be just fine. Remember: this is your date. No matter how… odd things seem, you have fun, yes? Yes. Now, you two put your arms around each other- like this- and snuggle up together. I’ll just wander over there and give you some room.” After rearranging a few limbs and ensuring the couple was as entangled as possible, the Doctor gave one last encouraging thumbs up and walked to the other side of the sparse crowd.

A bedazzled, painted woman came onto the center stage and signaled for the rhythmic drumming to stop. The show was about to begin. The Doctor tuned out immediately and located another couple with a tall straggler behind them. Settling beside his fellow third-wheel, the Doctor crossed his arms behind his back and stared vacantly at the ring of candles, counting down the seconds and deciding it wouldn’t be suitable to leave until he reached at least eighteen hundred and four.

At first the three ignored the man who had come up beside them, content to watch the enrapturing stunts being performed. Then the Doctor started tapping his foot. It was a light beat, quiet enough not to attract any attention. Only the man next to him noticed as the movement caught his peripheral vision, but it brought on no interest. All eyes were focused on the woman as she demonstrated how putting pressure on a metal bowl caused a giant crossbow to fire. She then summoned a masked man, who was strapped securely to the targeted area. A bag of sand was pierced to lower a weight into the bowl and the audience watched as the man fought to escape from death via huge arrow.

It wasn’t until the sand had almost entirely run out that the Doctor’s neighbor finally recognized Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9 being near-flawlessly tapped out next to him by a stranger over the sound of Chinese flutes and drums.

“Not bad,” the man commented, “though you did forget the-”

As the silence stretched on, the Doctor stopped his tapping and turned towards the man. The bloke was facing him and had a slack-jawed appearance, as though he recognized the Doctor. “I forgot what? Sorry, but have we met before?”

“A few days ago. We were chasing a taxi to find the suicide killer when you ran into me and then followed after us until you disappeared in a police telephone box. You were significantly less well-dressed than now.”

The Doctor perked up. “Oh, yes, I’d forgotten about that! Been quite busy since then, as it was- almost like months have passed rather than days, really. Yes, there was the black and then the pink and blue and- oh! You’re Sherlock Holmes! I’ve got to tell Amy-” No, wait. Amy was on her date with Rory; he really shouldn’t interrupt her, even to introduce Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s famous character. Hmm, what was a fictional late 1800’s, early 1900’s mystery storybook hero doing in the 21st century…

The weight glanced the bowl and the crossbow went off, just missing the warrior as he dived to the side at the last moment. As the crowd began clapping, Sherlock used the noise to make a clean getaway, walking around the circle and heading behind the curtains. With a look back at the applauding Ponds, the Doctor agreed that it would be best to give the couples some more room and followed after the man.

The back room appeared exactly as one would expect the changing room for a circus to be, though that fact didn’t make it any less creepy; masks and colorful costumes on racks crowded the small, dark space. A samurai outfit grinned menacingly at the Doctor as he passed by. Sherlock was in full-blown detective mode, once more ignoring the man following him to search for anything hinting at the troupe’s true purpose.   

The Doctor busied himself trying on a loud purple top hat and fluffy neon scarf as Sherlock peaked through the curtains at the acrobat performance. The door to the room banged open and the detective jumped behind one of the full racks while the Doctor struck a pose, maneuvering the hat to cover his face. He always thought he would do well as a model; now was his chance to practice.

The painted announcer came in, but only stayed for a moment to check her phone before leaving. Once the door opened and closed once more, Sherlock immediately stepped away from his hiding place and sprayed a paint bottle he had found on the mirror.

“I knew it.”

“Hey now,” the Doctor protested. “That is vandalism and I won’t stand for it. Now, while we are on the subject, did you find any in blue?”

The Doctor’s hope rose when Sherlock’s eyes widened in recognition, and then were quickly dashed when the detective threw himself to the right to dodge a long sword aiming for his neck.

“Oh, cool, I thought he was just a mannequin. I suppose I should know by now that all mannequins are evil regardless of being alive or not, though the animated ones are always worse- whoa! Be careful with that; you’re going to hurt somebody.”

“Either help- arg- or- oomph- shut up!” Sherlock huffed, winded from a knee to the stomach. The Doctor unwounded the scarf from his neck and jumped on the samurai’s back, wrapping it around the eyeholes of the mask. The man buckled harshly, but the Doctor waited for Sherlock to get his footing before using his captive’s lower back as a launch pad and flipping off of the samurai, taking his deadly scarf with him. As soon as he could see the man located Sherlock, only to be greeted with a cloud of yellow paint sprayed into his face.

Their scuffle continued until the samurai eventually gained the upper hand and shoved the detective through the curtain.

“It is not nice to throw people; let’s see how you like it,” the Doctor yelled, giving into the excitement of the fight. Usually a pacifist, it was nice to just let himself get caught up every now and then. Taking a running start, he collided into the samurai and pushed both of them pass the curtains and onto the stage, further alarming the audience and causing them to start scattering as the two men knocked each other onto the candles, causing some of the older floorboards to catch fire. The man from the couple Sherlock was with earlier, who the Doctor now recognized as the “other” John, ran up to try and help with the attacker, but was kicked in the leg and fell down.

As the samurai approached Sherlock was his sword drawn, a brown-haired female bashed him over the head with the wooden end of a fire axe. She was quickly joined by a ginger woman and the two took turns hitting the man with their weapons, the second aiming far lower at a certain delicate part of the male anatomy and accenting her blows with Scottish war cries.

 “Ah, yes, that’s good, Amy. Now, please stop hurting the man,” the Doctor said when it became apparent that Rory was content to simply gawk at his fiancé rather than speak up first himself.

“Uh, yeah; what he said. Actually, you can keep going, if you’d like.”  

“Blast it, the assassin got away. We’re going to have to keep looking through the books to crack the code; it is our only lead now,” Sherlock muttered, annoyed. He bent over to pick up his scarf that had fallen off, accidently taking the neon one instead in his hurry, and wrapped it around his neck as he left the smoldering room.

John looked after his friend, then at his ax-wielding date, and finally at the Doctor. “Huh. Bye then, I guess.” As the couple walked out the door after the detective, the Doctor thought he heard the beginnings of “it’s not you, it me, and, well, really Sherlock too, and-”, but it could have just been the leftover ringing in his ears from landing right on top of a box of bells and tambourines.

“Ohhh, I want to go look at books too! Come on guys, let’s go- ack”

“No, Doctor, I don’t think so,” Amy gritted, tightening her grip on the Time Lord’s bowtie. “We were promised a romantic date in Venice, and after this we are _getting a romantic date in Venice!”_

“… Yes, of course; silly me. How could I have forgotten about that? Totally my mistake, not at all unreasonable or choking-worthy, I’d say. I’ll just go fire up the TARDIS and we’ll get going; who cares about trying to put out the spreading flames. And maybe we could stop by later to see how things went-”

“TARDIS, now!”

“Right!”

* * *

 

John and Sherlock made their way out of the bank, both very pleased after watching the secretary loudly and enthusiastically quit once learning that her hair pin was worth nine million pounds. The climax of the show had been when the woman pulled out a prepared list of complaints about her bosses and the lack of respect and ever-present sexual harassment from stock traders who came in late, wasted. The look on Sebastian’s face when she pulled out a _second_ list made specifically for him was priceless.

“Another job well done, and a check for our expenses” John said, happily examining the envelope containing their earnings. “And all they needed to do was lock their windows.”

Sherlock gave an agreeable grunt as they paused outside of the bank entrance. “Say, how would you feel about going out for some-”

“Sheeeerlock! Wait!” The two looked over as an unmistakable man wearing a bowtie came running up to them carrying a… oh Lord, this can’t end well.

“Oh my word, when did you give him that, Sherlock?” John asked.

“Ah, Doctor, I see it came in handy then?” Sherlock said, pleased.

 “Indeed, your harpoon was surprisingly useful today- we went to Venice and encountered some really big fish. I didn’t actually use it, of course, but it sure worked well as an intimidation tactic, not to mention I look extraordinarily cool running with it, I’d wager.” The Doctor beamed, passing the sharp weapon over to Sherlock as he pushed his sopping fringe out of his eyes.

“Excellent. We were just going out for a bite. Care to join us?” John offered at the same time as Sherlock’s “great, go away now.”

The Doctor looked between the two men, backing away some. “You know, I really am not a fan of tension, especially not when it is sexually charged, so I think I’ll just let you two have your date alone, if it’s all the same. Besides, I just put the Ponds down for a nap and I have to get back before they wake up and start touching my things or plotting my demise. Peace out!”

He was just about to return to the TARDIS when a man in a corporate suit approached them, interrupting John’s stuttering denials.

“Sebastian, what do you want,” Sherlock asked with a frown. He had been so close to being able to leave without seeing the man’s mug at all; there was a reason he had agreed to John’s offer to deal with the bank manager, after all. So close…

“Yes, sorry you two, but I just remembered that I had forgotten to take out the money I gave you in advance from that last check. I’ll make the correction and you can be on your way,” Sebastian said, slimy smile firmly set on his face.

The Doctor gave an alarmed look at the man before addressing Sherlock and John. “Oh no, it looks like you blokes have your own infestation of vampires here as well. I guess I have a few minutes to spare; I’ll grab his legs and other John, you get his upper body. I saw a fountain up the road a bit, and I think something was moving in the water so it should work; Sherlock, you keep a tight grip on that harpoon just in case.”

“Hold on there, just what are you doin-”

“John, please; isn’t it obvious,” Sherlock stopped his partner, grinning over at the wide-eyed Sebastian. “The Doctor says there are vampires at the bank, and it is our job to help him keep London safe. You hold the harpoon and I’ll carry the torso.”

* * *

 

(From within the fourth Control Room’s sock drawer under a mound of knee-highs)

_Time and Relative Dimension in Space (TARDIS) HANDBOOK_

_. . ._

_. . ._

_. . ._

_Section: Miscellaneous Bells and Whistles_

_. . ._

_. . ._

_Blue Switch: brings the current owner of the TARDIS to the place/time where (s)he has the greatest potential to feel true contentment and happiness. Works in conjunctions with the Amethyst Dial (see “Amethyst Dial” on page 1,705,442 for more detail)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a love-hate-ambivalent relationship with the characters from both of these fandoms, so if it seems like I am ragging on one of them, then that is just how I show I care: no person is perfect, fictional or not, and I try to honor their creators by sticking to this principle. Also, the interactions between the Doctor and John and Sherlock will lengthen as the three get to know each other better. They are still in the slightly-more-than-acquaintances-but-less-than-colleagues-or-friends stage. 
> 
> Remember: reviews make the world go round and the fingers fly across the keyboard.


	3. A Cold Game We Play

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set after Cold Blood and The Great Game

John sat in his armchair, newspaper folded across his lap and forgotten as he stared at his left hand closely. He had been kidnapped, held hostage and nearly blown up and shot by a madman, or a “consulting criminal” as Sherlock fancied, _twice_ , yet there wasn’t any shaking. Not even the slightest trimmer had passed through his hand during the entire fiasco. At first he had thought the adrenaline rush was what he had missed from the war, and it probably had been; but now, he was starting to suspect it was something else that calmed his nerves, something purely Sherlock.

 He also contemplated why he was here, seated in this armchair across from a clearly preoccupied Sherlock, who possessed the look he always took on when deep in his pretentiously named Mind Palace, inside the main living space of 221B Baker Street. The aftermath of a traumatic experience was the perfect time to go to his current girlfriend’s home and be coddled by and cuddling with a worried beauty. Yet, that was impossible as there was no current girlfriend. In fact, John hadn’t accepted a single date since the night of the Yellow Dragon circus and his subsequent abrupt break-up with Sarah. She had been pretty, smart and funny, as had the rest of the girls who’d asked him out in the last month, but he hadn’t been able to go out with any of them. The elusive answer as to _why_ he couldn’t say yes to any of them plagued him; not even the severed head still sitting in their fringe could take his mind off the problem.

 _“Brrr-ing, b_ _rrr-ing, brrr-ing”._ Sherlock elevated his eyelids an inch to briefly glance over at the ringing phone on the arm of the chair beside him before closing them and resting his forehead against his folded hands again.  

“Aren’t you going to answer that?” John asked, rubbing his temples as he felt the pressure of a headache steadily building.

“It is the British Government on the phone, and as I have no present inclinations to make a deal bartering with my soul, I think I’ll just leave it be for now.”

Oh no, he was not getting away with acting like that, like _Sherlock_ \- not after the day John had. “For God’s sake Sherlock! We both almost just died, the cast of Stomp is rehearsing a number in my head, and you are going to answer the damn phone and talk to your brother right now, got it?”

The taller man raised his head, a biting retort prepared on his lips, but paused when he caught sight of John. Taking a few seconds to analyze his roommate, Sherlock finally nodded and quickly snatched his phone, raising it to his ear.

“Yes, brother dear, what do you require that you feel is so important as to interrupt me from my evening? I was busy waiting for John to come to a certain realization- yes, that one. It has been a long time coming and I hold high hopes that he will reach a breakthrough tonight. The wrinkles on his forehead and beside his mouth have been especially encouraging.”

“Uh, what was that, Sherlock?”

“Quiet John, I’m on the phone. What are you talking about Mycroft; I have no friends. There are only arch-nemeses, annoyances, plebeians, Lestrades, Mrs. Hudsons, and Johns.” Pause. “No, I don’t know any doctors and John doesn’t have any close co-workers at the clinic or- oh. Shit. Yes, I know him. Yes, yes, bring him here, we’ll be ready.” Sherlock rose after snapping the phone shut and hurried to the kitchen.

“Food, he will need food. John can get some from the market,” he muttered, opening the bare cupboards in search of substance. “And… blankets. It is cool out, he is likely only in a suit- blankets are a necessity. John, are you getting all this down?”

“I’m sorry, but what the hell is going on?” John asked as he watched his usually unbelievably lazy friend flitter around the apartment, moving books from tall piles into slightly shorter stacks and stashing his long sword and prized harpoon behind the couch.

“Mycroft called to inform me that he is bringing a man who claimed to know us here; a man by the sole name of the Doctor,” Sherlock replied as he taped pieces of paper over the bullet-ridden smiley face spray-painted on the wall.

John blinked in surprise. “You mean our Doctor- well, not ours, per say, but- yes? The one holding an unhealthy obsession with a police box and the color blue?”

“It would appear so.”

“But why is Mycroft taking him here? Is he hurt?”

Sherlock finally stilled before hesitantly turning to face John. “Not quite. Apparently, my brother believes this man to be suicidal and wants us to watch over him. Do we have any rolls of duct tape at hand?”

* * *

~ Two Hours Earlier ~

Gone. Rory was gone, completely erased from history. Never born, alive, or dead; just gone, lost to a tear in the universe. The look in Amy’s eyes as she begged him to help her remember her fiancé, the change that had come over her when his existence was wiped… it would haunt him for the rest of his days.

The Doctor turned the small red box containing the last proof of Rory’s life around in his hands, wondering what he was going to do now and, for the first time in over a century, drawing a blank. There had always been a brighter future in the distance, another adventure to be had with a bright, fun companion in an exciting, unexplored moment. Yet, these cracks extending into the very fabric of time had proven themselves far more dangerous than the Doctor could have imagined, and his reckless dismissal had cost him dearly.

Something needed to be done immediately about the cracks; first, though, he had to mourn. But how could one properly mourn a death when there was no one there to share the pain with? The Doctor had already dropped Amy off back in her time, unable to stand the lack of emotion over the loss she was unaware had been suffered. Now he was alone in his TARDIS, the instrument he had originally intended to use to bring the couple together and that had ended up irreparably tearing them apart. It was just supposed to be a vacation to Rio…

The roundels surrounding him groaned softly, the lights dimming on and off in place of tears.    

“Yeah, I know girl; I miss him too,” the Doctor comforted, running his hand over the console. A wave of flashing lights began directing his gaze to the left, and he saw them leading to the blue switch that’s purpose continued to elude him. “You’re right; we should flip it once more, in honor of Rory. Maybe I will find some peace wherever it brings us.” _Flip. “EERrwWwoooooSHHHh”_

21th Century London air greeted him outside the doors, welcoming him into her arms and offering to share his burden. Best of all: it was a Saturday evening.

“I truly do love London,” the Doctor sighed. He walked out onto the streets, doing his best to fade into the sparse pedestrian crowd lining the pavement.

It was hard to feel lonely when inside the heart of the British nation, yet the feeling began to overtake him nonetheless. The Doctor was currently companionless. The people passing by knew and cared nothing for him; while the anonymity, the ability to fade into the background was one he usually savored as he so rarely possessed it, he now felt cold and more lost than he could remember ever feeling. Leaning against the railing of a bridge spanning the Thames River, the Doctor stared into the rippling black waters, trying to let the peace of the undisturbed ecosystem lying beneath its depth seep into him, calming his mind and allowing him to focus on the problem at hand. _The Silence…_       

* * *

 

“No, I don’t care how you do it or what it takes, just _find him_. That rat won’t escape us again, not after this little stunt,” Mycroft hissed into the phone before snapping it shut. If he weren’t so agitated, he would have spent the extra energy to recall the name of whichever CIA idiot he had been talking to and thrown in a little parting _advice_ about a cheating partner or something of that ilk, but it had been too long of a day for such divertissement. _The bastard Moriarty wants to point guns at my brother? I’ll show him what real firepower looks like… Stop; getting too emotionally invested leads to mistakes. The more logically I approach this situation, the more strategically planned pain I can make him suffer…_

Mycroft paused in the middle of the Tower Bridge, placed a handkerchief over the unsanitary metal safety railing, and then took a rest against it. He had been retracing the route Moriarty’s petty game had sent Sherlock on in the vague hopes of finding any clues on the criminal’s current location, but he had forgotten how much legwork his brother’s hobby entailed. While not out of shape, Mycroft simply preferred the air conditioning and soft leather chairs of his office to the moist wind of the night.      

Murmurs from the other side of the bridge floated over to him as he caught his breath. “ _…time to end it all… must find the Silence…”_ Looking over his shoulder, Mycroft saw a man, who could barely be in his thirties, clutching the side of the railing in a death grip, peering into the river below.

Oh, no; Mycroft did not spend his afternoon running around London only to witness someone take their own life. It was the coward’s way out of problems and every suicide he read about in the papers left a bad taste in his mouth. Bringing his cell out again, Mycroft quickly summoned his driver and prepared to phone the nearest hospital, St Bartholomew's, and inform them of a potential patient that would need to be put under suicide-watch when another fragmented sentence made its way to his ears.

 _“It would have been nice to run into Sherlock Holmes and the other John again... the blue switch giveth, and the blue switch taketh away…”_ The stranger knew Sherlock? But Mycroft had been careful to monitor his brother’s interactions; for his own sake, of course. How had this man slipped past his notice?

Adjusting his tie, Mycroft made his way over to the man and took up a sentinel stance beside him. “Good evening. How are you today?”

The man turned his head and blinked at him. He then looked behind himself at the deserted sidewalk, checked to make sure Mycroft wasn’t speaking into a Bluetooth, and even glanced over the bridge to see if there was anyone loitering about over the water. Finally, he turned back to face Mycroft.

“I’m… old and tried and bereaved. It is a lovely night, though, so I suppose there isn’t too much to complain about.” The man looked back at the river, believing the conversation to be over. 

“Lovely,” Mycroft commented after a pause. Yes, this defiantly needed to be investigated further. “Might I have your name, perhaps? Mine is Mycroft Holmes.”

Slowly turning his head, the man stared at him blankly before remembering that there had been a conversation he’d been participating in. “My name… I can’t even remember the last time someone asked me that. I used to think it was so hilarious. Or maybe I still do; I’ve forgotten. Call me the Doctor, or nothing at all if you’d prefer.” His eyes unfocused and he seemed to zone out for a bit. Mycroft was about to either try to break to silence again or give up when the man started. “Oh, what was I saying? I’m sorry, I’m a bit…”

 _Mentally ill? Utterly absent? An exemplary example of exactly not what I want to be dealing with right now?_ “Preoccupied?” Mycroft offered. “Now, if you could just come with me for a bit-”

“Come with you? Oh, no, no; you see, I have something very important I need to do. Yes, it must be done now, though I am uncertain of how to go about it…”

“Do you know Sherlock Holmes?” Mycroft interrupted quickly. Why did he get himself involved again? Other people’s business was not his concern unless they made it so, and this man was obviously content by himself. Now he was too _invested_ to leave after hearing that last phrase; it was almost disturbing how casually the man spoke of figuring out a way to kill himself.

The Doctor perked up a bit. “Sherlock? Funny, I was just thinking about him. I’ve run into him twice- maybe three times- so far, though I still haven’t figured out why he exists yet.”

Yes, there was defiantly something fundamentally _off_ with this man. What person in full control of their faculties would call themselves only the “Doctor”? Doctor who, exactly? Did he possess any qualification, and in what field? These were questions that would need to be saved for later.

“Well, how would you like to make that three or four times? He lives not too far from here; I’m sure he would love to have you over.” He was an associate of Sherlock’s, and should therefore be his little brother’s problem, not his. One trip and he could go home, mix a kettle of tea, relax beside the fireplace and put this little meeting behind him.  

“That sounds nice,” the Doctor replied, not moving from his spot as his vacant- no, not vacant as there was definitely _something_ in those eyes _-_ gaze once more moved over the waters. “I wonder if other John will be there too. Maybe they still have that pretty harpoon; it could be helpful.”

“Come along,” Mycroft said, taking the man’s elbow to lead him to his car as it pulled up, flipping open his phone. He dialed number one and waited for the static noise to cut off. The chauffer didn’t even blink at the strange muttering man who came in alongside his employer, but merely started the engine and followed the familiar route to 221B Baker Street at Mycroft’s signal.

Just as he was sure the call would go to voicemail, Sherlock’s irked voice came across the audio.

“Yes, I’m sure you’re busy Sherlock, but I’m calling about a friend of yours-…yes I am positive you’re very entertained holed up in that dingy apartment of yours. You’re waiting for what- oh, you refer to the one about…”

* * *

 ~ Present ~

The Doctor stared at the three men standing before him and the delightfully disarray room around him, a small smile stubbornly refusing to leave his face despite the sober frowns aimed towards him. It really had been too long since he had been so completely confused and he was going to savor the moment for as long as he could. This was just the type of distraction he had been needing.

“Once more,” other John started slowly, keeping his gaze fixed on the Doctor’s wandering eyes, “we want to help you- as much as we can, at least- but you need to tell us what’s wrong. Not about how your ‘sexy’ is doing, not about your favorite fictitious vacationing spot, and most certainly not a detailed synopsis of all the inaccuracies in Douglas Adams's  _The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy._ Can you do that?”

“I love what you’ve done with the place…”

“Doctor!”

“Geronimo!” The Doctor jolted violently and swung his attention from the boarded-up windows back to the lowercase “d” doctor. “No, I mean, yes, of course I can help you with… what?”

“You’ve never even been here before!” John took a deep breath, brought his hands up to cover his face, and stepped back to retreat in the kitchen area. “He’s all yours Sherlock.” 

“Hush John. I’m busy,” Sherlock replied. He was in the same position he had occupied earlier that day, inspecting the man sitting in John’s chair. “It isn’t nice to play with other people’s Johns, you know.”

“Hold on one bloody minute, I’m not-”

“I’m not playing with him,” the Doctor countered, “I just don’t understand the question. Nothing is wrong, you see, because what would be wrong in the first place never existed now because it has been Silence-ed.”

“Ah.”

“What do you mean ‘ah’ Sherlock? That makes no sense!”

“You’ll have to excuse him, Doctor. I’m afraid John still isn’t entirely trained for polite company.”

“No offense taken. Most of my companions never really understand either, even after years of exposure.”

“ _Polite company._ In what universe am I that one inadequate for- how exactly is this polite- urgg.”

“So where are your companions now? They seemed relatively well-groomed for mundane pleasantries since they got along with Sally-”

“It was Sarah and you _know_ it, Sherlock!”

“- and John so well. That can be useful.”

“Actually, they are the reason that- wait.” The Doctor leaned forward as far as he could, his eyes widening in desperate hope. “Did you say _‘they’_?”

Sherlock hitched an eyebrow up. “Well, yes, there were two of them in attendance with you at the so-called ‘circus’, and the correct plural object pronoun would be-”

“ _Two_ of them? As in a red-haired female _and_ a gangly male?” At the affirmative nod, the Doctor fell silent for a short time. Sherlock and John… they remember Rory? _How_? “I need a bit to process, if you’d be so patient.”

“Take your time,” Sherlock shrugged. He lifted the saucer in front of him and took a sip of tea. The Doctor stared at the beverage being thoroughly enjoyed before him and then looked down longingly at his own cup.

“Do you think maybe you could let me go for a moment? Just for a sip of tea? Platinum please?”

“You only just got your muzzle removed; do you want it back on?”

“Hmm.” The Doctor peered down at his arms and legs where they were bound to the limbs of the chair he was in. The tape-gag had been a downer since the moment Microsoft had enthusiastically put it on, and it would only make talking and drinking and thinking harder. “Never mind. I’m content with your hospitality.”    

“Can I please leave now? I’ve work to do.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at his brother and shook his head. “You’re the one who brought a suicidal mental patient who knows me- and shouldn’t that have been a glaring sign for you right away?- to my home Mycroft, so you are going to stand there and hold that paper over the smiley face until the rubber cement dries since the tape was so woefully insufficient.”

“It did dry! Between my hand and the wall; that’s the problem! Get over here and help me free!”

“No.”

The Doctor blinked slowly at Sherlock. “Suicidal?”

* * *

 ~ Thirty Minutes earlier ~

Sherlock had been waiting impatiently for twenty minutes on the steps of 221B Baker Street with a foot rhythmically tapping and a roll of duct tape in hand (the other was empty because John had taken the opportunity to “hold onto for safekeeping” Sherlock’s favorite “8 and up cases” Taser on his way inside after abandoning his post at the detective’s side on the icy steps) by the time Mycroft’s driver pulled up to the curb in front of him. However, before the man could get out of the car to open his employer’s door, Mycroft threw open his own door and marched up to his brother.

“This man simply has to be your friend, or yourself in a past life, because he is just as insufferable as you. He kept claiming ‘it was a _nice_ day, except that it isn’t’. And his bloody blue switch monologue… Excellent, I see you have a binding agent. This will work perfectly.” Mycroft plucked the duct tape from Sherlock’s hands and ascended the front stairs into the building.

A tall, suited man Sherlock couldn’t successfully delete from his mental files at this point if he tried (which he had, during several occasions) poked his head from the open sunroof.

“Where did the man who knows Sherlock go? Oh, hi Sherlock. How are you this evening!”

Sherlock eyed the Doctor as he climbed up out of the car and slid down to the ground from the top of the car before turning to close the door Mycroft had exited out of. He then glanced back at the door to his apartment and recalled the image of his frazzled brother rushing unsteadily up the steps with every intention of physically restraining someone who had personally exasperated him over his boiling point with a roll of duct tape. It was… breathtaking.

Turning back to the Doctor, Sherlock nodded his head and beckoned the man forward. “I’m doing just fine, my very close, good friend, though I heard you have been having an off day. Come, the man has gone this way. We will meet up with him. Are you free now?”

The Doctor nodded, grinning at the warm welcome. “Why yes I am. In fact, I was just in the middle of a thrilling tale I was recounting to Microsoft about some sad, but still blue, thing when we stopped here that I’m looking forward to continuing.”

“Oh no, I don’t think you will be speaking for a while- Mycroft is in the middle of a tantrum now, totally unrelated to you, I’m sure- and John is going to try and have an emotional connecting session with you about why life is worth living and the temporary nature of human problems versus a permanent solution. All in all, you may be, well, _tied_ up here for some time.” 

Humming quietly, the Doctor let Sherlock lead him up the steps towards the flat without resistance. “Honestly, that sound like just about what I need right now.”

* * *

 ~ Present ~

 “Oh, so that’s why I was brought here,” the Doctor pondered, sipping his cup of tea in silent triumph. He had bargained his sentence down to one bound arm and leg; his free hand nursed his drink and his free leg was crossed over the other in a position as close to his normal “business” sitting pose as possible in his current condition. “You thought I was a danger to myself and decided to bring me to a place with familiar people and restrain me. How solicitous.”

John eyed the Doctor dubiously. “In what regard is that considerate; both Holmes have probably expunged that word from their vocabulary. More like self-serving...”

“Yes, well, is it safe to assume that this scenario is not the case?” Mycroft gritted out from across the room. “If so, let us wrap up this tedious matter presently and all be on our own way.”

“Oh, shut up Mycroft.”

“Actually Sherlock, I believe I am better now. Cured of all negativity by the shinning rays of your bright personalities. And I really must be off now; I have a companion to track down and liven up. So many options, so much time.” The Doctor used his teeth to take hold of his cup by the handle and reached into his pocket, pulling out a slingshot, a Hello Kitty-tipped pen, and the ball of a whistle before reaching his sonic screwdriver. With a flourish, the Doctor freed his restricted limbs, stood up, finished his tea in one gulp, and made for the exit.

“What in the bloody hell...” John trailed off, scrunching his eyebrows at the device in the Doctor’s hands.

“Oh yes; this?” The Doctor paused in the doorway and held up his second favorite lifelong companion, grinning. “That was a brand new feature. Like it? I like it.” With his final parting line delivered, the Doctor left.  

Sherlock watched as the man left and didn’t divert his attention from the empty hall for some time after. “A disappearing blue box…a tendency to show up at places during the most convenient times … a technologically advanced device… How interesting.”

“He never did tell me anything about himself. Am I losing my physician touch?”

“Somebody get me the damned adhesive remover!”

Mrs. Hudson poked her head in from the hallway. “I just got back from the store, dears. My, what is with all the yelling; are we having another domestic?”

* * *

The Doctor strolled through the London streets, the heavy feeling of conviction weighing him down to the pavement and grounding him to his beloved city. Other people remembered Rory, humans who weren’t time travelers and should have forgotten about him as Amy had. It wasn’t much, but it gave him hope. If he could find a memory of Rory, then maybe there was a chance of finding the man himself.

“Either way,” the Doctor mused, throwing his hands in the air and tipping his head back. “Look at all of these stars! So many places to go, and a girl who has waited long enough due to my moping. Maybe something low key this time: maybe an art museum? Why not?”


End file.
